


Like Gold

by pilindiel



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Canon Compliant, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, M/M, POV First Person, POV Marco Bott, Possessive Behavior, Possessive!Marco, at least a bit aha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 18:12:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11296041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pilindiel/pseuds/pilindiel
Summary: Touching Jean is like instinct.  The way he gasps into my mouth.  The way he arches into my touch.  I know how to sate him.  How to make him keen.I’m the only one, and I covet it like gold.





	Like Gold

It's easy to get lost in Jean.  His tawny eyes are sharp but open if you know where to look – just catch those beautiful flashes of gold and chocolate and you can melt into it.  His arrogance, his biting smirk, his imaginary swagger. It's intoxication incarnate, invigorating every cell in my body, every pump of my heart.

When we steal time alone, away from the crowd and the squads and the fighting and the blood, I can indulge in the way my fingers burn for his touch, for the ways he shudders against me and meets my searing lips with his own fervent ones.

I know my fingers trail fire down his skin from where I drag my nails.  He loves being pinned like this, up against the hard wood with my knee between his thighs and the heated air between our panting, frantic breaths.

Touching Jean is like instinct.  The way he gasps into my mouth.  The way he arches into my touch.  I know how to sate him.  How to make him keen.

I'm the only one, and I covet it like gold.

I can't take my eyes off of him: the way he bares his pale neck when his spine curves and I can feel the muscles beneath his shirt, the puffy red of his too-kissed lips, and the pretty pink flush of his cheeks.  I hesitate to lean too far in, to miss the desperate look pinching his face, but he pulls me into another bruising kiss and I try not to deflate against him when his tongue takes control.

I let him, mainly because I can pull the groan from his throat better this way when my teeth close around his lower lip and suck.  He practically writhes, his fingers digging in my hair and tugging so hard on the strands that I see white for a second, a growl rumbling low in my chest.

I wish I could say we touch each other slowly, savoring the taste of each other's lips and skin, letting time whittle down until we tumble through quiet gasps and the whisper of each other's names, but we don’t.

It's frantic and desperate and full of hormones and stumbling.  Jean's nails dig into my scalp with too much ferocity but even as I yelp I don't stop the frenetic pumping of my hand around his shaft.  I can usually reign myself in – keep myself plastic and pristine and perfect – but Jean.  I can't control myself around him, not when he has that satisfied little smirk still on his face when he sees how wrecked and focused I am.

Not when he sees how wrecked he makes me.

My nose brushes his neck and my teeth find his pulse and Jean flinches, hips jumping into my grip.  I continue my assault, careful to not leave marks but enough to give him the pressure I know he craves, and pump him with the intensity he hankers for.

I see it mounting, feel it building in the shudders and twitches of his body, and I inhale deeply against his shoulder.

The moment right before is the one I love the most – when his brows are pinched together and his breathing is ragged and every drag of my fingers makes a whine or gasp fight its way out of his lungs.

Fire blossoms deep in my belly – a possessive, terrifying, _**exhilarating**_ thing – and a quiet voice within reminds me that I'm the only one who gets to see Jean like this.  The only one who can _**make**_ him look like this.

I smash our lips together again just as his hips start to stutter out of rhythm, swallowing his moan when his orgasm hits and rolls through him in shivering waves.

He whimpers when I pull away, but the kiss I place to the side of his mouth has him sagging gently into my arms.  Jean nuzzles into my shoulder, muttering some quiet platitudes as I drag my fingers through his sweating hair.

My chuckle is low and tender and _**warm**_ and when Jean finally looks up at me with pupils blown and that tell-tale smirk tugging at his lips, I know he and I aren't going anywhere soon.

I press him back into the wood and this time when we kiss, it's like were lost souls, searching for the bonds that will bring us back home and back to each other.

Time disappears, forgotten to the taste and feel of Jean pressed against me, and we let it fade to give us just another moment alone, another moment together.

**Author's Note:**

> This feels so purple prose-y. Can I really only write handjobs. What is wrong with me. Where's my hardcore smut.


End file.
